October the Thirteenth, 1720
As I begin this captain’s log, we have made camp six metres from the ship’s landing. I am proud to be leading this South Pole expedition—our stalwart team of scientists and explorers shall make Mother Britain proud.
One of the meteorologists (Elizabeth) happens to have the same model of compass as me. We shared a laugh about it.
October the Twentieth, 1720
A horrible, horrible day. The cold is much worse than anticipated, and the wind chill is brutal.
Elizabeth has a really interesting energy. I feel like my spirit flies to her in a way that it hasn’t flown to someone in a long while. I almost forgot that it was possible to experience an incorporeal connection with someone at this level. It’s nice.
November the Ninth, 1720
Forced to delay two weeks of journalling owing to unforeseen disaster. Bowers was caught in a savage blizzard and lost contact with the rest of the team. As captain, I was forced to make the ghastly choice to trudge onward, praying that Bowers somehow makes it back to the ship.
Also, Elizabeth keeps mentioning a “Dylan” from the mainland. Could she be engaged in a dalliance with someone of this name? Or is Dylan just an acquaintance? Trying to figure out how to ask her who Dylan is, but sort of afraid to find out. (In a way, it’s nice to spend time with her not knowing . . . I should just take pleasure in that for what it is.)
November the Eleventh, 1720
Going crazy over this Dylan thing.
November the Fourteenth, 1720
Morale is low, and the wind feels like death incarnate. I have a deep fear that this expedition has been a disastrous mistake.
Elizabeth has an amazing laugh. She has only laughed twice this entire expedition (once at the dogs playing, once at the realization that we have the same-model compass). I actually believe that she is a person of great cheer and that her lack of laughter is due to the current situation—the horrific cold, the possible death of Bowers, and most people on the expedition not being that funny.
November the Seventeenth, 1720
Made Elizabeth laugh today! She said, “This icy wind chill makes me unable to feel my face,” or something like that, and I responded, “What icy wind chill?” Completely deadpan! “What icy wind chill?” And at that she let out a small laugh (maybe closer to a smile with a cough—but I shall call it a laugh nonetheless)!
And it strikes me that Dylan could be a woman’s name, and thus simply a friend to Elizabeth!
November the Twenty-third, 1720
I am beginning to believe that God has forsaken us. Rogers did not return from his scout, so I sent Wilson after him; Wilson returned carrying Rogers, passed out and overcome with frostbite in both legs. On top of everything, I wish there had been privacy to tell Elizabeth that this was not my fault. The captain of an expedition cannot exactly control whether someone returns from their scout with frostbite. Alas, Elizabeth was too busy to talk (helping Rogers stay alive).
November the Twenty-fifth, 1720
I’m shaking as I write this, but finally for a good reason—today, Elizabeth told me that she “appreciated my camaraderie”! We were walking ahead with the dogs, and she made a face at me, and I said, “What?,” and she said, “What?,” at which point I laughed and said, “Nothing, just trying to lead this ruinous expedition,” and she said, “I know that, and I’m just trying to provide adequate barometer recordings for my research,” and I said, “I know you are,” and she said, “I appreciate your camaraderie.”
!!!
Of course, maybe it was platonic, but then again who platonically informs someone that they appreciate their camaraderie? My instincts tell me that the comment was intended to be romantic, and I do believe that my instincts are strong. (I have led more than seventeen expeditions.) Regardless, I am just trying my best to enjoy this feeling without overthinking it.
Rogers passed away yesterday from the frostbite.
November the Twenty-seventh, 1720
The horrors continue: McDouglas and Adams both froze to death in the night, and I had no choice but to order a full retreat back to the ship. We were able to cross a frozen tundra thanks to Beth’s suggestion that we discard all nonessentials. (Beth is Elizabeth—I call her Beth now.)
December the First, 1720
Last night, as we failed to light a fire, Beth confirmed that Dylan is a woman, which at first was a relief—but a relief most brief! She then said she hopes that she “lives to see Dylan again, should I survive the expedition,” and it was then I had the awful epiphany: Beth could still be romantically entwined with Dylan, even if Dylan is a woman!
I have no idea whether Beth is homosexual or not—I only just met her a month and a half ago! It’s not precisely something that you can just ask a fellow-explorer so early on. I curse myself that I’ve been blinded by my assumptions of heterosexuality—assumptions most ignorant and shortsighted (similar to how I told Rogers that he would be O.K. with the whole frostbite thing).
December the Eighth, 1720
Have been feeling quite glum and dour. Beth asked what was wrong, and I said, “We’re running out of food,” so I wasn’t technically lying to her.
December the Thirteenth, 1720
I fear that if we encounter another blizzard we may be forced to eat the dogs. Also: found out that Dylan is Beth’s sister! She’s only her sister!
Of course, she could still have a boyfriend that she has not mentioned yet (or a girlfriend—must not make assumptions, ha ha!). But, nevertheless, this remains a strong victory for my spirit, and a necessary one, as I have contracted severe pneumonia.
December the Seventeenth, 1720
The hallucinations and my rising temperature have made my fate all too apparent—I have mere hours to live. I shall die in this cursed Antarctic, burdened with the awful knowledge that I have failed my mission.
As I began fading from consciousness, I motioned to Beth and told her, with the heaviest of hearts, that she must abandon me to save herself and our fellow-explorers. She nodded—but then she squeezed my hand! I must say, it was a very firm squeeze, definitely the squeeze of someone who has feelings. Sometimes, things just work out.
